Fire After Dark (20 page)

This delicate play is doing its work for me. I’m breathing faster and my sex is swelling and pouting, filling with a delicious hot wetness. My body has been awakened by Dominic and is hungry for more, eager to feel those transports again. My instincts are driving my hands downwards. I let one disappear into the folds of the gown, playing it over myself, letting it linger and feel the heat between my legs.

Are you watching, Dominic? Is this exciting you?

Slowly, I pull at the belt holding up the gown and it slides free. As it loosens, the gown slips down my legs to the floor, leaving me only in my lace knickers and bra. As one hand rubs and caresses my breasts, the other pushes its way down inside my knickers
and down to my secret place. I push a finger into my hot wetness. Oh my goodness, I feel so ready down there, hungry for touch, ready to yield up pleasure to me at the slightest touch. I run my finger over the full lips, sliding it through the honey there, and bring it to my clitoris, that sensitive bud that sends those exquisite messages out to all my nerve endings.

I lick my lips as my fingertip rubs against it and it quivers deliciously. It wants more and more. I rub it again hard, twirling over it with more pressure. It’s begging me to be rougher, to be firmer. It wants to be brought to its peak, my whole body needs it . . .

Dominic.
I imagine he’s touching me, those big square-tipped fingers exciting me, plunging into me while the pillow of his thumb presses hard on the dimple above.

I can’t fight the urge now. My legs tremble as I gather pace, rubbing hard in long strokes across my most sensitive place.

‘Dominic,’ I gasp aloud, and then it comes, the orgasm crackling and shaking me. I have to reach out with my other hand and clutch the table to prevent myself falling over, as my limbs respond to the intense sensations. I’m quivering with the force of it as it grabs and shakes me in several violent motions, and then it recedes, leaving me gasping.

My head droops, my eyes are shut. I take a long breath, then bend and pick up my gown. I wrap it around myself and move about, turning out the lamps.

I do not know what is happening in the flat opposite. It’s in darkness and I do not look anyway. I’ve shown him myself in the most intimate way. Now he knows that I can go further than he thought possible.

And this, Dominic, is just the beginning.

Chapter Twelve

‘Are you ready for this? Are you sure?’ James searches my face anxiously, wanting to be certain that he’s not helping me down a path better left untrodden.

‘Absolutely,’ I say with determination. I’ve dressed up in the sexy black dress I bought on my makeover day, and used all the make-up techniques I learned then to make myself look as sophisticated as possible.

‘All right.’ He puts out one arm for me to slip mine under. ‘Well, you look lovely. I’m very proud to have you on my arm.’

With that, we start walking through the fading evening light towards Soho. I hope I’m doing the right thing. Despite what happened last night, I haven’t heard from Dominic. I’m sure he watched every second of what took place, but my phone has remained silent all day. No text, no call. I just hope that I didn’t have the opposite effect to the one I intended.

Well, it’s done now.

But this is different. It’s taking myself, uninvited, into his world. It’s risky and dangerous because I have no way of knowing how Dominic will react to it. His character in his other existence might be quite different to the one I think I know.

James talks on, helping take my mind off the thoughts churning in my head.

‘So I’ve done a little research into this place,’ he confides as we walk along, looking like any other smart city couple on our way, perhaps, to the theatre or an expensive restaurant. The truth is very different to what any observer might suppose.

‘What did you find out?’

‘It wasn’t easy. There’s a website but it’s extremely vague and most of it is members only. How you become a member isn’t really explained. I suspect it’s a question of who you know, as it so often is. However, I made a few calls and managed to find someone who’s a member.’

‘Oh?’ My interest pricks up. ‘What did they say?’

‘Full of praise,’ James says laconically. ‘Loves it. He joined when he found true love with his girlfriend. He’s not yet told her that his particular pleasure involves enemas and golden showers, so he goes to the club every now and then for that. Worth every penny of the very expensive membership, he says.’

My mouth drops open and James notices and laughs.

‘Oh, my dear, you really have no idea, do you?’ He pats my hand in an almost fatherly way. ‘Your innocence reminds me of happier times. Never mind. Don’t worry, we’re not going to see people doing that kind of thing out in the open. It’s far too sophisticated for that. You’ll see when we get there.’

James knows exactly where we’re going, which is good because I’m beginning to feel sick. If he weren’t striding confidently beside me, with every intention of seeing this through, I would be lagging and getting ready to change my mind and head for home. Soon, too soon, we’ve passed through the busy Soho streets and have found the turn off into that strangely quiet place where the tall Georgian houses have their windows shuttered against the outside world. The old-fashioned street lamp glows and the iron railings glimmer in its light. It’s easy to imagine we’ve stepped back in time, and that any minute I’ll hear the clip-clop of horses’ hooves and the creak of carriage wheels, perhaps see a mysterious figure in a long frock coat and a top hat.

‘Well,’ James says as we come to a halt outside the house. ‘Here we are. The Asylum. Shall we go and join the Bedlamites?’

I take a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ I say firmly. And we descend the metal staircase towards the black door below.

Inside, the man I saw before is sitting at the table. He looks as weirdly frightening as I remembered, with dark tattoos swirling over one half of his entire face and over his skull, and with those curiously pale, almost white eyes. He looks up at us as we enter, his gaze going immediately to James. I hope that he’s forgotten the brief visit I made here last time, but just in case, I keep my eyes lowered.

‘Yes?’ he says, his tone unfriendly.

‘Good evening. I’m not a member, unfortunately,’ James said, sounding far more confident than I ever could have, ‘but my friend Cecil Lewis is, and he said he would arrange for us to be welcomed here this evening.’

‘Cecil?’ The doorman cocks his head at us, still frosty but a little less hostile. ‘Of course we all know Cecil. Just a moment.’ He stands up and disappears through a dark doorway off to the left that I guess must lead to vaults underneath the pavement. James and I swap glances, mine worried and his amused, and he raises his hand to show me his crossed fingers. A moment later, the doorman is back. ‘All right, Cecil’s arranged it. I’ll need to issue you with temporary cards and there will be a charge for tonight’s entertainment.’

‘That’s no problem at all,’ James replies smoothly, reaching for his wallet.

‘We don’t do money here,’ the doorman says, as though such a thing would be hopelessly vulgar. ‘You will be invoiced. I’ll need your details in this book. As Cecil is standing for you, you understand that he will charged if you neglect to pay.’

‘Of course. My own club has exactly the same rules,’ James returns, refusing to be ruffled. He bends down, picks up the old-fashioned silver nib pen and dips it into the inkwell. He writes his name and details, the pen scratching over the paper in the silence. ‘There. All done.’

The doorman turns to me. ‘Now you.’

I take the pen obediently and write my name and the address of Celia’s flat, then hand the pen back.

The doorman produces two cards of heavy ivory paper. They are engraved in black script with the words
Temporary Member of The Asylum
and underneath
Your discretion is required.
I take mine and clutch it. My entry card to this secret world.

‘You can go in now,’ the doorman says, nodding towards the doorway off to the right. I know where it leads. Into the club itself.

‘Thank you.’ James steps forward and leads the way and we pass through the doorway and into the dark interior that awaits us. As we venture inside, it looks the same as it did the last time I was here but now there is more time to look around. I try not stare, but my eyes are drawn at once to the cages at the back of the room. They are there, but now they hang empty, looking like vast round birdcages. Chains inside hang limply.

‘There were people in those before,’ I hiss quietly to James, nodding towards them. ‘Girls in bondage gear.’

‘I wonder why they’re empty tonight?’ he says. He’s leading the way between the tables and finds us an empty one. ‘Let’s sit down here.’

The room is very dark. The only illumination comes from tiny red glass lanterns on the tables and some heavily shaded wall lights. The atmosphere is very louche. Around us, people are sitting at other tables and waiters dressed in black polo necks and black trousers move between them, serving drinks from their trays. No one seems to be eating. I get the impression that different sorts of appetites are sated here.

A waiter comes up to us and hands us a drinks menu. James peruses it for a moment and says, ‘A bottle of Chateau Pichon Longueville Comtesse de Lalande ’96, please.’

‘Yes, sir. And . . .’ The waiter looks at us impassively. ‘What sort of room will you be requiring later, sir?’

‘Ah . . .’ James seems disconcerted for the first time. ‘Er, well, I’m not sure, actually. We haven’t decided.’

The waiter looks surprised. ‘Really?’

‘That is – we’re temporary members, I’m not sure what’s on offer.’

‘Ah, I see,’ the waiter says, his face clearing. ‘I’ll fetch you the menu, sir, so you can see our range.’

‘Now we’ll find out,’ James murmurs to me as the waiter heads off. I look around at the other people. They seemed normal at first glance, well dressed and relaxed in these unusual surroundings, drinking expensive wine and cocktails, but as I watch, I see that unexpected dynamics are being played out. One table seems to be two women drinking together but I soon realise that one of the women is in fact a man, dressed in women’s clothing and in full make-up. He keeps his eyes lowered at all times and only moves to fill up his companion’s glass or speak when he is spoken to.

‘Look,’ I say to James and he glances over discreetly. ‘Is he a transvestite?’

James whispers back. ‘I don’t think so. But don’t ask me what they’re up to.’

At another table, a woman appears to be drinking alone, but a movement catches my eye and I see that a man is underneath the table, crouching over her feet. It’s then I release that he is assiduously licking her leather boots, as carefully and rhythmically as a cat cleaning its paws.

The waiter reappears with our drinks and the room menu. As he puts the bottle on the table, he says, ‘It’s cabaret night tonight, sir. A great favourite with a certain section of our membership. Afterwards there is usually a high demand for rooms, so it’s best to book early.’

He leaves us with the open bottle of wine and the menu. I take it and read it as best I can in the semi-darkness.

‘The nursery wing,’ I read just loudly enough for James to hear. ‘Two chambers are available, each fully equipped for baby’s every need. The schoolroom: suitable for the education and chastisement of pupils. The throne room: a luxurious chamber fit for a queen. Mount Olympus: a heavenly boudoir, designed for a goddess and her minion but suitable for gods and their slave girls too. The wet room: suitable for all kinds of play. The dungeon: three separate underground chambers superbly supplied with tools, where masters and mistresses can give their slaves the richest of punishments.’ I put the card down, feeling a little faint. ‘Oh my God. What is this place?’

‘Didn’t Dominic tell you about it?’ James asks, one eyebrow raised.

‘He said it was somewhere safe for people to live out fantasies. I just didn’t realise what those fantasies can be.’

James shakes his head. ‘There’s no limit, darling. No limit at all.’

‘But . . .
a nursery
?’

‘I’ll bet you’ll find the biggest, butchest babies you ever saw in there,’ James remarks with a laugh. ‘But think about it this way. Some Alpha males crave a little time off, when they don’t have to bestride the world, take on the massive responsibility that comes with their jobs or their money, when they can return to the safety of childhood.’

‘I can see that, I suppose,’ I say haltingly. ‘But to dress up as a baby . . . and do they find it sexy too?’

‘You’d be surprised what people can get sexual enjoyment from. I suppose some could even get it from doing their tax return. I did have a friend who got highly aroused every time she did a sudoku puzzle. She kept piles of those puzzle books by her bedside and got in a panic when she ran out of Biros.’ He laughs. ‘I’m exaggerating, but you see what I mean.’

James pours out glasses of the wine. It glints ruby red in the candlelight. ‘I think you’ll like this, it’s rather good,’ he says, admiring the liquid in his glass. He takes a sip. ‘Oh, fabulous.’

I sip as well. He’s right. I don’t know much about wine, but I can tell this is something special, it’s so smooth and delicious.

As we’re enjoying the wine, some lights come up and I notice a small stage at the front of the room for the first time. A pair of pale blue spotlights are trained on the stage and into their cool glare steps a woman. She’s beautiful and curvaceous, wearing an exquisite red flared dress and high heels. Her hair and make-up are like a vintage screen goddess’s. Music plays and she starts to sing in a low husky voice about wanting to be loved, just a little. It all seems like ordinary cabaret until she begins slowly to strip away her clothes. The dress comes away in two separate pieces, revealing a corset tied tightly around a tiny waist and thrusting up a large bosom, silken underwear, a garter belt and stockings.

‘She’s a looker all right,’ James murmurs.

It’s a burlesque performance, the kind of thing that’s been popular for a while now. As she sings the sultry nightclub number, the corset comes off revealing a pair of larger than expected breasts. She writhes prettily, swinging her hips and posing delicately in her heels. Then the shoes come off and she peels away the stockings too. Only the silk pants are left, and as the song reaches its climax, the singer unbuttons something at the back and the pants drop away, revealing a large penis nestled up over a pair of shaven balls. There’s a sound from the audience like a gasp mixed with a sigh. The singer tugs on the penis for a moment so that it hangs large and pendulous, then smiles at the audience as though asking for their admiration of her appendage.